


A Helping Hand

by wynnebat



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Pre-Slash, Rescue, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 15:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: “Newt Scamander is in need of an assistant, I believe,” Dumbledore said, stroking his chin. “I have a feeling that you would enjoy working with him.”Harry peered at him with some suspicion. “Does Newt know he’s in need of an assistant?”Dumbledore had no half-moon glasses to give cryptic looks over the tops of the frames, but he still managed a look to the effect. “We are often unaware of that which we most need. In any case, Hogwarts is doing you no good. A change of pace will help you settle into the decade better than anything I can do for you here.”“I feel manipulated,” Harry sighed. “And nostalgic about it, too. I don’t know why.” With a pat on the foal’s head, he picked himself up and turned around to find Dumbledore already holding a portkey and a mokeskin pouch of whatever he was sending Harry off with. “No, never mind, the nostalgia’s gone now.”(In which Harry begins a new job, defeats a Dark Lord, falls in love, and settles into a new time.)





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Ignis.

It took an hour for Harry’s denial of finding himself in the past to vanish.

It took a day for Harry to ask for help from his former mentor, now shockingly young and dark-haired, not yet the headmaster of Hogwarts.

It took a week for Harry to work through his lingering disbelief at everything being so different.

And it took months for Harry to accept the horrible, inevitable truth: that he would never be able to return to his proper time except to move forward one day at a time. Not even time turners would be capable of such a thing—and they hadn’t yet been invented. The Department of Mysteries was a small offshoot of the DMLE, boasting of three researchers and an enthusiastic but apologetic head of the department who personally told Harry the bad news.

Harry only narrowly avoided a repeat of the end of fifth year. Dumbledore didn’t deserve his anger; this time around, this Dumbledore, he had nothing to do with the accident that left Harry stuck decades before he would be born. For a while, Harry did nothing, moping around the castle and feeding the thestrals, until Dumbledore suggested taking a job with magical creatures.

“Newt Scamander is in need of an assistant, I believe,” Dumbledore said, stroking his chin. He’d found Harry in the midst of the thestral herd, staring out at the Black Lake with his favorite foal clamoring into his lap. “I have a feeling that you would enjoy working with him.”

Harry peered at him with some suspicion. “Does Newt know he’s in need of an assistant?”

Dumbledore had no half-moon glasses to give cryptic looks over the tops of the frames, but he still managed a look to the effect. “We are often unaware of that which we most need. In any case, Hogwarts is doing you no good. A change of pace will help you settle into the decade better than anything I can do for you here.”

“I feel manipulated,” Harry sighed. “And nostalgic about it, too. I don’t know why.” With a pat on the foal’s head, he picked himself up and turned around to find Dumbledore already holding a portkey and a mokeskin pouch of whatever he was sending Harry off with. “No, never mind, the nostalgia’s gone now.”

“Come back when you’re ready,” Dumbledore offered. “Hogwarts will be here—and so will our battle against Grindelwald. To activate the portkey, you only need to say Mr. Scamander’s name.”

Harry accepted both items. He turned the portkey over in his hands a few times. It was a crystal ball, clouded with wisps of blue, purple and white smoke, not blending together but moving slowly all around. Harry threw it up gently like he might a quaffle during a quidditch.

It had been years since he played the game. It would be years longer that he would again, Harry felt, because he couldn’t imagine quidditch bringing him much joy without the same people who had introduced the game to him in the first place. There would be no Ron to guard the goal and theorize with him for hours each week, no Hermione to pull their quidditch notes from their desks and replace them with homework and books. For a few years after the war, Harry played professionally alongside Oliver and Marcus, and he would never hear their overly loud, almost flirty arguments again. Harry had thought he had worked through his emotions, but it was a bludger to the gut each time he remembered something new that would never be the same again.

Maybe it really would be good to get out of Britain. Just for a little while, just until he felt steady on his feet. Harry knew himself well: if he resolved to avoid the conflict with Grindelwald, his resolve would last only until he watched someone die. Better to leverage it in his favor instead.

“I’ve already defeated one Dark Lord. I’m not going to stand down and watch another one wreak darkness and terror.” He caught the portkey at last, clenching it in his hand. No matter how tightly he held it, it didn’t warm under his fingers, continuing to chill his skin. Harry met Dumbledore’s gaze. “I’ll do everything I can to stop him, but I need you to do something for me.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “And what is that?”

“Find Merope Riddle before the 31st of December,” Harry blurted out before he could change his mind. He couldn’t stomach the thought of finding her himself. The child growing inside her would one day kill his parents, friends, and so many others. Harry couldn’t be the one to help. But maybe if Dumbledore was the one to find her, things would change for the better. “She’s pregnant, alone, living on the streets somewhere in London, and she will die if she doesn’t receive aid. Do that, and I’m your man.”

Dumbledore’s gaze gentled. “You already were in the future, I think.”

It was all Harry could to not react to that. Complicated wasn’t a grave enough term. He had walked to his death on Dumbledore’s word. If he had to, he might do it again, but he’d rather not. Harry would prefer to live.

“Goodbye, Albus.” And with that, he said, “Newt Scamander,” and let the portkey take him away.

Harry settled in easily into life as Newt’s assistant. As he’d deduced, Newt hadn’t been searching for an assistant, but he’d received a mysterious letter from Dumbledore letting him know that one would arrive soon. Comrades in their dislike of being manipulated but fond of Dumbledore despite it all, Harry and Newt got along well.

It was still hard, these days and weeks without the friends and family he’d made in the future. Harry didn’t expect that to change for a long time, even as the days passed and he built something new in the past. Friendship with Newt and his beasts, peace with himself that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Things had always been so hectic in the years after the war. In Newt’s suitcase, there was no war unless one counted the arguments between the animals, no chaos unless one counted the niffler’s grabby hands.

When Newt decided to pack up and visit the States to return a thunderbird, Harry went with him. He stayed in the suitcase during the sea voyage, not dealing well with either seasickness or the lack of proper muggle paperwork. Harry couldn’t forge papers very well, while Newt’s magical knowledge leaned more in the direction of defense and creatures than paperwork. Once in New York City, Harry stepped out to stretch his legs and attempt to keep the niffler contained, and was promptly arrested along with Newt by an overeager American auror.

“You’ve turned me into a criminal,” Harry said, shaking his head solemnly in Newt’s direction. “I should have known you’d be a bad influence.”

Newt stifled a sound that may have been laughter. “I blame the niffler.”

America’s magical ministry was as beautiful as Britain’s, not that Harry was able to see much of it. Tina ushered them through the building and down an elevator, where they exited in what seemed to be a cross between a records room and a conference room. Harry recognized the woman speaking as President Seraphina Picquery only because she had been Hermione’s idol back in their earlier years at Hogwarts. Hermione had read every biography on her with hearts in her eyes while he and Ron tried to convince her to get into quidditch on the basis that Seraphina had also played sports at Ilvermorny.

Next to her stood a handsome, well-dressed man with eyes of steel, and Harry spent a moment admiring him, but only a moment. He felt more than attraction. There was an easy familiarity there, a bond that it seemed not even time could break, and not between himself and the man.

“Ah, splendid,” Harry murmured, ignoring the conversation between Tina and the president. He held out his hand, palm up, and said no spell. He didn’t need to. The elder wand flew from the man’s pocket and into his hand, back where it belonged. Within moments, every wand in the room except Newt’s was pointed in his direction. Harry raised an eyebrow in the man’s direction. “This is Gellert Grindelwald’s wand, you know. He took it from the wandmaker Gregorovitch in his twenties. I wonder how you came to have it.”

Slowly, Tina’s wand turned onto Grindelwald instead, and she looked at him with wide eyes. “What was the first thing you said to me, Director Graves?”

Grindelwald looked between her and Harry, and something in him changed, straightened, grew. His expression was no longer the placid mask he’d worn. “I had expected today to go quite differently.” He stared darkly at the elder wand before meeting Harry’s gaze. “You have taken that which is not yours, young man.”

Harry gripped it properly now that every wand in the room was pointed in Grindelwald’s direction. “Sorry, the wand has spoken.”

Grindelwald didn’t go quietly. Harry hadn’t expected him to. But there was no one in this room who felt any loyalty to a man like Grindelwald, and many who felt loyalty toward the man whose face Grindelwald wore. Harry got a few spells in, though the main assault was headed by the president, who seemed happy to take Grindelwald’s head if she needed to. She didn’t; before long, the man was bound magically, with a few spells of Harry’s addition, helped along by the elder wand’s creativity. No need to allow Grindelwald to escape after this.

Harry twirled the elder wand between his fingers. “You’ve been naughty, as usual.” In response, the wand’s magic nipped gently at his fingers. Harry huffed, and on the last twirl, he brought it properly into his grip. In the future, the deathly hallows had refused to leave him. It had been strange to wake in the past and not have elder wand fly into his hand. It seemed it had been biding its time. “Now, where is the real Percival Graves? Is he alive?”

People and places flashed through his mind like photographs. The elder wand could only give him information on what it had been present for, but luckily, Grindelwald enjoyed using it in his more cruel and illegal activities. Harry discreetly slipped out of the room, his presence shielded by the comings and goings of the various aurors and other government employees who’d arrived to secure Grindelwald.

The wand led him out the back entrance of the Woolworth Building and into the wizarding sector. Harry passed various shops and restaurants until he found himself in a residential area. The wards recognized the elder wand and Harry stepped inside. Upstairs, he found a locked door, and behind the locked door, a shackled man. His face was Grindelwald’s in broad strokes, but thinner, and his hair was the kind of dirty, oily mess that put Harry’s own messy hair to shame.

“ _Liberar_ ,” Harry murmured and watched the shackles fall from Graves’ wrists and ankles. “Grindelwald has been apprehended by MACUSA. You’re free to go.” When the man didn’t move, Harry added, “This is a rescue.”

“How do I know you aren’t him?” Percival said, slowly, his voice hoarse. “You have his wand.”

“It’s mine now.” As for the rest... Harry placed the wand into the pocket of his robes and reached out. “I’m Harry Potter. If there’s one thing you can trust about me, it’s that I hate Dark Lords.” His hand hung between them. “Come on, Director Graves. Take a leap of faith.”

“I’m not sure I remember how,” Percival said, but he took Harry’s hand in his. His skin was dry, his gaze full of heartbreaking hope.

Harry held his hand for a long moment before he realized, “Er, I don’t know where the hospital is. I’m not from around here.”

And slowly, in fits and starts, Percival began to laugh. He stumbled into it, resting his head against Harry’s shoulder, weakened but alive. Harry let him. He helped him stay upright while Percival’s laughter turned to something choked and terrible, and he held on.

Finally, Percival said, “I’ll do it.”

Without hesitation, Harry passed him the elder wand. Percival apparated them both to the private wing of a magical hospital. He was drained by the attempt. Within minutes, a mediwitch found him a bed to collapse into, and Harry sent a patronus to alert the president that her director had been found. The elder wand always changed his patronus; Harry rolled his eyes at it, but allowed it to stay. He himself stayed at Percival’s bedside, knowing that he could, should leave, and not wanting to move an inch. There had been something so lost in Percival’s gaze. Harry wanted to make sure he found it, whatever it was.

In the weeks that followed the capture of Grindelwald, Harry gave his statement of events to the aurors, allowed himself to be interrogated until he became bored, and helped track down the obscurus within the city. Once the young man was found, Harry was promptly replaced by Credence in the role of Newt’s assistant. Harry didn’t mind; the kid needed a break and the job wasn’t exactly well-paying. Afterwards, he helped Newt release the thunderbird back into the wild. Not healed yet but sick of the hospital, Percival joined them, and together they watched it fly away.

Newt took the time to show Credence a one of the small animal dens and the tracks leading toward it. Harry simply watched the thunderbird fly away from his conjured blanket on the ground, and next to him Percival did the same. Harry didn’t feel any urge to leave. Not now, not for a while, and he didn’t delude himself into thinking it was because he liked the weather here.

He turned to Percival. Percival must have felt his gaze on him, because he turned too, and Harry found himself at a loss for words. He’d never been good at this sort of thing. Ending up in the past, with different social mores and expectations, hadn’t helped him any. He reached for Percival’s hand, cupping it with his. “I found you. Does that mean I have to return you?”

“Perhaps,” Percival replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. But he grew quiet, and with a shake of his head, he said, “For now, yes. Maybe forever. I won’t lie to you.”

Harry squeezed his hand gently, and Percival threaded their fingers together.

“It’s alright. It will keep.” Harry could tell that Percival did not believe him, but it did not matter. No matter what the marks on Harry’s hand implied, he rarely lied, and he needn’t do it now. He had his own vices. The list did not include fickleness nor disloyalty. It was terribly easy to fall for a man he barely knew, for the weariness in his eyes and the determination that kept him upright when another in his situation might give up entirely. For the way he looked at Harry like he expected him to leave and yet wanted to hold him close. “Where do you think I’ll do the most good?”

“To the future?”

“To you,” Harry corrected.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Percival said, “Thank you.” He gave Harry a measuring look. “The auror department needs all the help it can get.”

“I’ve always wanted to be an auror,” Harry mused. Percival’s hand was warm, and eventually, whether it was because he was still healing and tired, or because he wanted to, Percival rested against his shoulder. “It would be nice to stick around.” Harry wrapped an arm around Percival, telling himself that he was only helping Percival stay upright. He must have been tired after the long day out of the hospital.

Percival allowed him the indulgence. “I’ll hold you to your word.”

And if he meant more than just Harry’s aid in that moment, it didn’t matter. “You can hold me to anything.”

In time, Harry allowed himself to be parted from Percival’s side, though not for long. He passed the entrance exam for MACUSA’s auror academy with the ease of a man who has fought more than one Dark Lord and in a magical war besides, and moved into the training barracks. They were optional for local recruits, but Harry didn’t have anywhere else to stay. Percival hadn’t offered another option and Harry hadn’t pushed, content to visit in his free time and make sure Percival was following the healer’s advice. Once the investigation was over and Percival’s home was returned to him, Harry’s free time turned to time at the Graves’ ancestral home, clearing it of every sign of Grindelwald’s presence. Months later, cleaning had turned to training in Percival’s exercise room, and a year after, it turned to them working side by side, paperwork and casework in piles all around them. It was no secret that the director had a favorite auror and Harry made no effort to hide how much he valued Percival. Sometimes, he wondered if Percival’s maybe would ever turn into a yes, but his heart beat steadily onward, and Harry knew he didn’t want anyone else.

It took a while, until one evening when he fell asleep in Percival’s library. The book on battle tactics may have been written by one of the foremost experts of their time, but a duller text one could not find. He woke to Percival gently shaking his shoulder. Half asleep, Harry leaned against Percival as he was guided upstairs.

“This isn’t the guest room,” Harry mumbled into Percival’s shoulder. He felt Percival run a hand through Harry’s hair.

“No, it’s not.” A rush of magic and Harry was wearing Percival’s overly soft sleeping robes. “Sleep, Harry.”

In the morning, Percival would show Harry just how finished he was with waiting. But for the moment, Harry fell asleep, warm and comfortable in Percival’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [tumblr](https://wynnefic.tumblr.com/).


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